Original Sins
by conventionalfallacy
Summary: Elena Gilbert's supporting her brother the only way she can. Damon Salvatore's stuck with his for the foreseeable future. It's just a job for both of them when their paths cross in the club. It's hard to have a relationship when you keep lying to each other from opposite sides of the law, but the secrets keeping them together run deep and neither of them can stay away.
1. Chapter 1

_Ensemble cast fic. Delena, other pairings undecided. M. _

_A note before we begin: I will not tolerate any slut-shaming on this fic. Probably my LEAST favorite thing to see in this entire fandom is the phrase "whorelena". First of all, there isn't likely to be any actual prostitution. Second, even if there was, even if one of the characters sleeps with as many people as are in the cast, I just don't want slut shaming. It's really offensive to me. I love keeping the comments open to everyone, even grayfaces, and I love getting feedback both positive and negative about my work (even if I curl up in a ball and wonder what I did wrong in the world after negative responses) but if it becomes necessary, I'll do what I have to to prevent that kind of crassness. Commodification of human sexuality is something that happens. Human sexuality in general is awesome. Let's all be mature adults about it._

_On that cheerful note, I present to you..._

* * *

**Original Sins**

Damon Salvatore is not doing paperwork.

This is not to say that he has no paperwork that needs doing. He does. It's strewn across his desk like a really boring jigsaw puzzle with an answer that just ends in more paperwork. So of course he's not doing it. It's a never-ending cycle that somewhere along the line would result in Alaric giving him more actual responsibility over paperwork. As it is, his partner simply throws it at him and tells him that he's not going to put up with Damon not doing his half (though it ends up more like a third). That's fine. Damon's willing to do his work, he just doesn't want anyone to start expecting it.

Alaric's not here right now – to be specific, he's in their supervisor's office – so Damon puts his feet up on his desk, throws a tennis ball up in the air, and doesn't do paperwork. No one gives him so much as a second glance. By now it's a given that Damon will be Damon, no matter what anyone else says or does. In fact, if he hates what you say or do enough, he might just go out of his way to be himself in a way that pisses you off. That's just how it goes. Damon gets more annoying when he doesn't have a case, too. He's the kind of person who doesn't deal well with being bored.

Finally, Alaric reappears. His expression carries black irritation. Whatever just happened, they're probably going to end up drinking together tonight so Alaric can bitch about it. That's how they do things. Before Damon can say anything, he gestures back towards their supervisor's office. "Your turn."

Damon raises his eyebrows mockingly. "Damn, Ric. You got us _both_ sent to the principal's office. What'd you do? Tie that kid's pigtails to the chair when she wouldn't cooperate?" He wags his finger at his partner. "You know she couldn't help it. She'd been so brainwashed she probably wouldn't have been able to tell you her favorite color without her boyfriend's input."

Ric just rolls his eyes, not even bothering to make a return quip. That's a bad sign. With a sigh, Damon stands and ambles towards his superior's office. Section Chief Mills is a bitch and a half, but she's also good at what she does. While Damon may not always be her greatest fan, he has a great amount of respect for her that he conceals under a veneer of insubordination and apathy. He's not sure how they make it work, but they do to the point where she hasn't yet killed him and hidden his body, as she once threatened to do.

"Mills." He leans casually in her doorway. She has quite the presence, even sitting down behind her desk.

"Salvatore." She fires his name back drily, motioning for him to take a seat across from her. With anyone else, he might prefer to remain standing, but the way Mills turns back to her computer leaves him with absolutely no questions that she expects him to obey. Damon sits. The chair is almost as uncomfortable as those in interrogation. He's long since decided that she likes anyone who comes into her office to feel unbalanced. It's a power complex that rivals that of his last girlfriend.

Leaning on her desk, Damon steeples his hands under his chin. She glares, but does nothing, refusing to get into a power struggle. He quirks an eyebrow in response. "So. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Saltzman didn't tell you?"

No, of course not. That would be too easy. "He was too busy tying that girl's pigtails to her lawyer when we were trying to get her to give up the boyfriend."

Mills nods, still engaged in whatever it is she's working on, then does a double take, dark hair flying around her face as she turns her head to stare suspiciously at Damon before deciding he's being an ass. As usual. "Funny, Salvatore. I can make your life a whole lot harder if you keep giving me lip."

Damon just shrugs. "From the look on Ric's face as he told me we were in trouble, you probably ate his puppy, so I'm not going to like whatever comes next anyway."

"Kitten," she corrects almost absentmindedly, and Damon snorts. She stands, rummaging around in the files on her desk before pulling out the absolute messiest of the lot. Damon winces. Messy files are the worst. The less organized they are, the more likely it is that they've been passed from hand to hand, either because the case is horrible or because it's not a real case. "Here." She hands him the file, then sits back down. When he makes to open it, she snaps. "Later." Never gives her full attention, always demands his. That's Mills for you. "Saltzman's just pissy because he doesn't want to spend the next few months breaking a new agent in."

Immediately, Damon freezes, mouth dry. "What?" That's not good. Not good at all. He and Alaric have been partners since he first joined as a rookie with a snarky streak a mile wide. It's thanks to his friend that Damon's softened at all, though he'd never admit it. Besides, he just likes Ric. They work well together. And he doesn't think there have been any cock-ups as of late. If she's splitting up Team Badass, someone must have done something really wrong. For once, he doesn't think that it was him.

"Don't worry," she reassures him, but not after rolling her eyes prominently. "You'll be able to pick up your 'bromance' right where it left off when you get back. He's just getting a green one temporarily. She won't be his forever partner."

Well, that's a relief. "So what, then? Ric sign us up for the twelve-week volunteering to help fragile and confused grads course?" If he's been assigned a newbie partner, even for a short while, it's going to take every ounce of his self-control to not shoot the kid after a day.

"Please, like anyone in their right mind would trust you with a recent grad." Mills waves a dismissive hand at him, and Damon's not sure if he should be relieved or offended that she didn't even consider the idea. "_He's_ getting a temp partner. _You're_ getting a temporary merger. So a partner, but not a green one."

"I'm not working with White Collar again, am I?" Damon whines. "Because I think I'd rather shoot a newbie than put up with them."

"And you wonder why you're never going to advance beyond your current position," she mutters. He really doesn't wonder – he knows – but he gets her point. At the look Damon's still giving her, Mills sighs. "No, it's not White Collar. It's Violent Crimes. So you have no reason to complain, seeing as you commit them on a daily basis."

Under any other circumstances, Damon would rise to the quip with one of his own. The words "violent" and "crimes" when put together have the remarkable power to distract him, however. He winces. Violent Crimes is a major unit. There's nothing to be concerned about. A bad feeling persists. It's not uncommon for the Criminal Enterprise Section (read: drugs and gangs) section to cross over with the Violent Crimes section, but not to brag, he's quite good at what he does over here with the drugs. Either it's a high-profile case, or more skewed towards the violent side of things. As Alaric's not assigned, the only reason Damon can think of that they'd want him on it with an unknown partner is if he's already familiar with who he'll be working with. _Very_ familiar.

Snapping in his face brings him back to the current situation. "Hey. Salvatore." Mills' face lies somewhere between confused and irked. "Now _you_ look like I've eaten your kitten. I thought you'd be happy. You've only been bugging me to let you at this case since you first got wind of it. Now we finally have reason to."

Despite her earlier orders, Damon opens the files. At the very top of the first slightly crinkled page lie two words that make him grin in spite of himself. **Original Sins**. Well. That does make things better. Damon's been convinced that there's something substantial to the Original Sins case since he first got wind of it two years ago during one of Ric's fits of vengeance. But Mills would never let him have it, saying that people had been interested in it for years without anything substantial on which to base an investigation. Damon, being Damon, investigated when and what he could. He doesn't have a lot more information, but he's not the only one who's ever been interested in this club. That's why the file's such a mess. It's the work of Agent after Agent with a hunch, a prickling feeling on the back of his or her neck that there's something wrong there. And it's his.

"The powers-that-be said you can have it." She breaks into his reverie without a hint of remorse. "Apparently things get interesting when people start disappearing."

Of course. It takes the suspicion of murder to get a case Damon's 100% certain involves fucktons of illegal drugs. That's why Violent Crimes is getting involved. Because everything's more important, more interesting, with Violent Crimes. And no, he's not bitter. Not in the least.

"So you're with your brother on this one, if you hadn't guessed already." Her attention's back on her computer screen, shrewd brown eyes focused on some aspect of the onscreen text that must be absolutely fascinating. Or it's just an excuse to effectively dismiss him. Damon suspects it's more the latter. Absolutely nothing about being in management at the Bureau seems to ever be even remotely interesting. "Undercover, so you'll get altered identities that are relatively close to your own. You're working in their section, so though you'll report to me, they're taking care of your stories, lodging… And you'll need to give up your desk for Saltzman's rookie until you get back. Any questions?" It's not an invitation. Mills's body language makes it perfectly clear that if he has any questions, he needs to quit being a pussy and suck it up.

He _does_ have a question, though, and Damon leans forward, proving that he's not a coward simply by going against what Mills so obviously wants him to do. "That's fine and all," no it's not. His desk is _his_, thank you very much, and moving into Stefan's territory sounds like an absolute nightmare after he's worked so hard to carve out a niche of his own. Damon says none of this, though, just going with "How long is this going to take?"

The smile Mills gives him is positively malevolent, and he thinks in another life she might have made a good dictator. "I don't know, Salvatore. That's really up to you, isn't it?"

Damon excuses himself with nothing more disrespectful than an eye roll. Definitely dictator material. Or maybe professional sadist. He's not putting it beyond the realm of possibility that she derives pleasure from his pain. It's a bittersweet victory he's won. He got the case he wanted. But he doesn't get to investigate it with his partner. Rather, he's going to have to resurrect history and face his little brother. Take on this case with a man he hasn't spoken to since they last brawled like children. Is it worth it? He flicks open the file again, looking at the cover page, the scrawled notes, the effort his co-workers have put into this case. He wants in. Even if. Even if everything. Damon Salvatore wants to investigate this whole fucking situation. But first.

"Hey, Ric. I need to get a drink."

x.x.x

When your homicide investigation involves no actual dead bodies, you know something somewhere has gone wrong. It could be the "higher ups". It might be the subjects of your investigation. More likely it's your brother.

Morosely, Stefan flicks through the pages of the most haphazard case file he's ever seen, He's only been in the section for a year, and this is his first case that looks like n incomprehensible disaster. Not only that, it makes him feel like a child. Denigrated. As though his superiors are unimpressed with his work (but why would they be? He has a legacy and a strong track record even with his relative greenness) so they want to put him on an impossible project just to get him out of the way for a while. Why would anyone even waste resources on investigating this, when they're not at the local level with nothing going on and no one better to gawk at for a while?

Across the room, a blonde girl about Stefan's age is bent over a mess of evidence and statements, talking quietly but with undeniable enthusiasm to her partner. Jealousy immediately smacks Stefan hard. Whatever Lexi's working on, it's certainly productive. More so than sitting here with a case he doesn't want and a re-assigned partner, waiting for his brother to show.

Lexi and Lee are the second dream team of the Violent Crimes until, outdone only by Jones and Swan. To be fair, they've both been around significantly longer than Lexi, and as far as Stefan knows have been working together the entire time. But Lexi had the top shooting-under-pressure _and_ marksmanship scores of their year. She'd gotten assigned to Lee a few months after joining the unit, when his partner died in one of those horrible tragedies that happens significantly less frequently than popular media would lead you to believe. She got incredibly lucky, in Stefan's opinion. The only flaw he can see in their _partnership_ (because Lee certainly has some flaws) is that they're together in defiance of explicit FBI protocol. He hasn't reported them only because Lexi's his best friend. Stefan trusts her to do the right thing. Even considering that, he wishes he could have gotten a partner like hers, if only so he could blow right past the stupid cases like this one.

He looks back to the door. Where the hell does Damon think he is? He ought to have gotten reassigned this morning, and since it's almost noon, there's no reason for him not to be here. Violent Crimes and ACES actually work pretty well together. Not like Violent Crimes and White Collar. Even Stefan's Section Chief can't stand White Collar, and she can put up nicely with almost anyone.

"Salvatore? Your brother's not here yet?"

Turning to look at her, Stefan shakes his head. No, of course he's not. Damon is as rude and selfish as he's ever been, he couldn't possibly rouse himself to not waste everyone's time unless it benefitted him.

She frowns, a worried look on her face. Section Chief Blanchard has always been too sensitive for her own good. Until Lee's partner's death, Stefan couldn't comprehend how she'd managed to rise to her position. But her leadership ability in a crisis, the steely look she got in her eyes as if she was preparing for battle left him in no doubt that if she'd wanted to be, she could have been an army sniper. She's more than equal to violent crimes. "Have you tried calling him?"

"I haven't been able to get in contact with him. Maybe he has his phone off." It's only kind of a lie. Stefan _hasn't_ been able to get in contact with Damon. He just doesn't mention that he hasn't been able to get in contact with Damon for years. Though they work for the same agency, sometimes even in the same building, he deleted his brother from his phone and never looked back. Damon's no good for anybody. How he's supposed to work with him for an extended period of time, Stefan doesn't know. If his brother botches their assignment – not that there's much to botch – he's going to be furious.

"Ah." She nods, and turns away, almost running into someone coming through the door. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were there."

"It's no problem. Really. I should have been watching more carefully where I was going. Do you think you could direct me to Section Chief Blanchard?"

Stefan knows that voice. Years of separation can't erase it from his head. The smooth, self-confident quality it has. That easy presumption that coils around everything. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say. Well, if there's any truth to that saying, Damon has just proven it.

"You've found her. Does that make you…?"

"Special Agent Salvatore, ACES. At your service."

"Perfect, we were just talking about you!" Perfect is not the word Stefan would use. Annoying, maybe. Intrusive. Thoughtless. But perfect? No. "Salvatore!" She looks over at him.

Stefan stands are marches over to Section Chief Blanchard and Damon, the latter regarding him with an amused smirk. "Hello, brother."

"Damon."

Blanchard smiles guilelessly up at both of them, either oblivious to the tension or simply ignoring it. "Since you're both here, we might as well get started. You'll probably want to get started on the drive early, or you'll have to go through the night." She turns on her heel and motions for them to follow. While Damon responds like a well-trained puppy, Stefan's still nonplussed.

"What?" The pair of them stop and look back at him in almost the same motion. Damon's always had that skill of mimicking people if he wants to. Stefan doesn't like it. "Drive through the night?"

Damon shrugs. "Not if we get started soon. It's only about five hours."

He strides forward so that the whole room can't listen in on their conversation. Stefan's missed something, obviously, but he doesn't want his co-workers to know that. It would reflect horribly on him if he can't keep up with his own assignments. "_Five hours_? I thought we were investigating a club."

"We are." One dark eyebrow is cocked disbelievingly, as if he's can't believe that Stefan really doesn't know this and is looking for his brother's angle. "Original Sins. It's in Mystic Falls, Virginia, but as close as possible to West Virginia and Kentucky as one can be in a notable metropolitan area."

Though he always tries (and succeeds) to take his work seriously, Stefan can't help but make an incredulous face. "Mystic Falls? Sounds like the smallest small-town settlers ever built."

Damon doesn't miss a beat. "It was, once. It started out as this tiny outpost built in the Civil War. There was a population, but no one really cared that much. There were a couple skirmishes there, but the only interesting part is the massacre of 1864. Union soldiers fired on a church. Twenty-seven civilians died. After that, it was tiny for a few years but has actually grown into something relevant. Which is pretty impressive, considering it could have easily been a rural nowheresville."

Blanchard cocks her head, making an impressed face at Damon. "Very good, Special Agent Salvatore. How'd you know all that?" Stefan would like to know the answer to that question, too. She holds the door to her office open, and Damon nods his thanks. Stefan follows his brother in.

"I've been to Mystic Falls before." At Blanchard's gesture of invitation, they both sit, Damon leaning back with complete ease while Stefan keeps a more formal posture. "A pretty big gang – of _child snatchers_, you might have heard of it – was targeting a wide area around there. My partner and I teamed up with another pair. Never ended up catching anyone, but the kids got home safe and the leader shot himself in his own apartment. So I've done my homework."

Stefan can tell Blanchard approves. She's not particularly skilled at hiding her emotions, especially not the positive ones. He shifts uncomfortably. When _Damon_ of all people is showing him up, he knows something's gone wrong with the world. "That should make it easier, then, if you know some of the local mythology. We're placing you two as Pennsylvanians who have been interested in business in the area for a while."

"Why?"

Damon cuts in to answer. "Because it's got a couple relatively wealthy areas. 'Forest Lake', I think is one, and some other similarly pretentious places that pretentious people like to move in. Plus, it's located so close to state lines, it's far easier to run illegal business because of the infinite questions about jurisdiction."

"And why would we want to be investigating illegal business opportunities?"

"Because we're actually investigating a club. Duh." That last sound had to be tacked on purely as an insult. Stefan grits his teeth. How, exactly, is he supposed to work indefinitely with this immature man-child?

Even Blanchard seems a little taken aback by Damon's rough casualness. She rallies. She's a leader, after all. "Right. So, Salvatore… um…" She turns from one to the other, somewhat lost. "Salvatore."

"Please, call me Damon." Unprofessional. But then, what else did he expect from his older brother.

"Oh, alright. Anyway. The two of you will be playing brothers, of course. Your father just died, and you inherited quite a bit of money from him. You're looking to invest it in Mystic Falls, and one of you – Damon, probably – is a Civil War buff. One of you, too, whichever, is interested in investing in Original Sins, or in getting into the business entirely, I'll leave that up to you. The other's uncertain, so you'll have to spend some time there. Figure out what your jobs and backstories are, but you're rich. Probably nouveau riche. From Pennsylvania so that you don't have to have accents. You'll use your real names, but we'll create false identities for you online, so you have to give us as much information as you can as quickly as you can. It's a certainty that the Mikaelsons will be looking you up. They'd be fools not to. It shouldn't be too dangerous, but people have been disappearing, and it might be related." She sighs, looking from one to the other to make sure they've absorbed her lecture. "Any questions, either of you?"

Damon narrows his dark eyes, and Stefan has a sudden flash of panic, or perhaps you could call it a premonition, that Damon is going to say something he doesn't want him to. "Yes. Why us?"

Of course. But Blanchard just smiles easily, taking the question in stride. "It was a balancing act. We needed new agents, but not green ones. Ones who would be able to work closely together – it's a lot harder to go undercover than anyone thinks – at least, that's how I understand it."

Now Stefan too leans forward, intrigued. "Why new agents, though? Why not Damon's partner? Or Humbert?"

"They're too established." Blanchard speaks conspiratorially. "It would be impossible to pretend either Agent Humbert or Agent Saltzman has never worked at the FBI. The two of you, though… You're good, but you don't have much history. Especially Salvatore." She frowns, realizing she's referring to both of them. Damon smirks. "So it's going to be easier. Neither of you have ever been in the press. We do the right work, and the two of you disappear. The Damon and Stefan Salvatore who work at the FBI will never have existed."

The two brothers exchange a glance. Neither can quite explain why, but for a moment a chill runs down their spines. Even if it's all pretend, the idea of ceasing to exist doesn't sit easily with either of them.

x.x.x

"What happened to you?"

Elena winces, hurriedly pulling her hair out of a ponytail. "Do I look _that_ bad?"

Blue eyes widen into a guilty expression, and Caroline waves her hands in front of herself, attempting to dispel the implications to her question. "No. No! I didn't mean it like… You're just late. And you didn't straighten your hair. I just usually expect that from Katherine – the lateness, obviously!"

A laugh bursts from Elena's throat. Kat may know next to nothing about punctuality, but she always has time to do her hair, her makeup, and of course apply her signature blood-red lipstick. Though she'd never say as much, Elena thinks Katherine wears the color in part because she likes leaving dark lip prints everywhere she can. "Is she here already?"

"Yeah. She bounced in a minute early with this odd, gleeful look in her eyes, muttering something about a toy who needs a serious lesson." Caroline mock-shudders. "I didn't ask." She leans against the lockers, watching her friend change without a hint of shame. They're used to it. "Something go wrong with Jeremy?"

"Huh?" Elena shakes her head, wrestling with the many straps of her top. "No. No, Jer's fine. I just figured I'd schedule a doctor's appointment for him at the same time I had one – clinic check up, you know – and it ended up running later than I thought. I still had to take him home, so…" She shrugs. "It's fine, right?

"It's ten." That's not really an answer. "How late are you planning to stay?"

Elena sighs. She hates working all night. But someone has to do it, and sometimes that someone has to be her. Especially when she has to take Jer to the doctor. She makes decent money, but health care is a problem and she's not going to just let her brother not get attended to because they don't have insurance. "I'll probably be here until closing. I haven't got a client tomorrow. Jer can drive himself to school."

Reaching forward, Caroline deftly untangles the straps on the back of Elena's top, laying them flat against her friend's skin. "There. You really are off today, aren't you?"

"No!" She pauses. Sighs. "Yeah, a little. I hate clinic days. Even though there's nothing to worry about…"

"You psych yourself out," Caroline finishes, nodding sagely. "It's totally normal. Med students do it all the time."

Elena tosses her friend a skeptical look over her shoulder. "And what do you know about Med students?"

"I've been in the hospital before!" Her voice stays light, but Elena winces. She'd forgotten about that. Or not quite forgotten, but put it to the back of her mind. She supposes she's been in the hospital too, but it was a brief childhood incident, like the kind everyone has. "I know how things work."

"Sure you do, Care."

"Next time you're dying from a drug overdose, I won't tell you, then. I'll just watch you. And then when you're dead I'll tell you that I told you I knew things."

Elena rolls her eyes, but it's playful. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind next time I don't do drugs."

Caroline swats her shoulder. "Oh, shut up and get your ass out there. Rebekah's prowling around tonight, and she'll give you the judgment look if she sees you walk of shaming out onto the floor." With a shake of her head, the blonde pivots on her heels and sashays towards the door. She opens the doors and music spills in, washing over Elena for a moment before the door closes and she's alone again. With a sigh, she finishes changing and hikes her foot up on the bench, strapping on ridiculously high stilettos. It amazes her still that she's learned to walk in these things. The first time she tried, walking through her home under the watchful eye of her cousin, she had fallen almost immediately. The second and third attempts had gone similarly. And now she glides around in seven and eight inch heels as easily as she runs in sneakers.

Elena sizes herself up in the mirror. Hair loose, bobby pins tucking the frontmost strands back so they don't fall in her face. Top artfully arranged so that it looks as though it's hanging off her body with a few straps, barely covering what needs to be covered, when in actuality there's no way in hell it's going to be displaced. Bottoms so scandalous that she's infinitely glad Jeremy can drive now, and doesn't ever have to hang out in the locker room while she's working. That was a horrible time. Especially with Kat flouncing around without a care in the world for what anyone saw. Sky-high heels notably extending her legs. Dark circles under her eyes. Well, not everything can be perfect. Hopefully no one will notice. Doesn't seem like she's going to get enough sleep tonight, either, with four and a half hours of dancing, and then having to get up early to see if she's gotten a last-minute job. But there's nothing that can be done about that. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Elena walks to the door and pushes it open, letting the ambiance of her workplace engulf her.

As always, there's a slight perfume in the air. Not enough to irritate anyone, and carefully chosen so as not to activate any allergies. Even after four years, she can't quite place the scent, but it's comforting. And it covers anything else. Gives the place class. The lights are atmospherically dim, but not so much that she can't see to the other side of the room. Not like the club. Vicki took her over once, just to look at what went on there. Elena could barely hear, barely see, and barely move (given all the bodies thrashing around with a distinct lack of respect for other people's space). Music throbs in her bones without breaking her ears. Yeah, she knows this place.

Without even thinking about it, the sway sneaks into her walk, switching Elena's hips from side to side as she walks, drawing attention to her curves, the snaky, feminine way her waist twists. She becomes liquid, silk, feline. Anything and everything to draw eyes, draw desire. The stage isn't the main attraction. Not here. Maybe at lower-class places, but here discretion and elegance are valued. She'll dance, but most of it won't be for the public.

More than seeing it, she feels when ice blue eyes snap onto her, assessing everything about her. Rebekah. Of course she couldn't get in without the girl noticing. Elena isn't quite sure why, but Rebekah does not like her. They seemed like they might have an acceptably cordial relationship for her first few months here, but gradually that devolved into a palpable dislike that it's rough for Elena to ignore, considering Rebekah's effectively her boss. She purposefully doesn't make eye contact, just throws an extra undulation into her next step as she winds up towards the stage where Vicki's already performing.

The main stage looks a lot bigger from the floor than it actually is. There's barely enough room for the three poles set into an appealing triangle. A really ambitious Vamp could probably jump from one to another, if she danced barefoot. Which has been done before. (By Katherine, no surprise. Elena's pretty sure there's no one else shameless enough to walk around the club without her shoes on.) Vicki hangs off of one of the front ones, smiling in a way that bounces between seductive and simply happy. Of all the girls, she probably likes the pole the best, even showing off her burns with something akin to pride.

Elena nods a greeting to the other performer before she places her hands on her own pole, walking around a few times just to adjust her hands to the texture, the way it grips and slides. She does this every night, and she's not going to start dancing until the song changers, preferring to just use the back pole to warm up, slip into her splits a few times, and let Vicki finish doing her thing. Courtesy among the dancers is something she infinitely appreciates about working at Original Sins. Intense competition is discouraged, and Elena's never seen a physical fight in her time here.

She scans the crowd. Not good, but not terrible by any means. What can one really expect from a Wednesday night? Instead of Hump Day, the girls have taken to calling it Slump Day. Wednesday and Tuesday continually compete for "worst working night of the week". Frustrating, but what can you do? Nothing. And it's not like any of them are starving. With a sigh, Elena body rolls against the pole, twisting herself into her first lift of the night. It's just a simple climb, but it settles her.

The music changes, and she moves forward, twisting around the pole next to Vicki's and sliding down it, sticking her ass out. Catching the other dancer's eye, Elena mouths "what's going on tonight?" Vicki nods to let her know she got the question.

Both of them twirl around their poles a bit, Elena pulling herself up and hooking her ankle around the equipment, suspended in the air before she slithers back to the ground. Once they've worked themselves into a position where Vicki's back is to the audience, the brunette responds "mostly quiet. Anna didn't show. Rebekah's pissed." Another nod, this time from Elena.

She keeps it simple this song, nothing more complex than using her own momentum to pull herself up sideways, moving into a downward twisting splits. There will be more time for interesting tricks later in the night. Midnightish. Ten isn't bad, but right when the club first opens at seven and towards closing, there's not even any reason to put out effort. No one in the audience is ever worth anything. After a couple more exchanges of information, Elena learns that there's more than one Wolf in the club tonight for the first time in a couple weeks and that Bonnie's replacement for the night is botching the other side, so Rebekah isn't the only one who's pissed. She has nothing new to share, so it's mostly listening, but the exchange of information is a vital part of being a Vamp. For whatever reason, they've learned to survive as a unit, rather than as individuals.

The song winds down, and Vicki bends backwards on her pole, hanging on with one hand and blowing a backwards kiss with the other. Elena tries not to giggle, both at the enthusiastic response from the men present and the disgusted one of the bartender. Then again, she supposes if Jeremy saw her like this, she'd want him to be revolted. Hell, she'd be revolted.

Vicki cycles out, but Elena signals that she wants to do another stage dance. She does get tipped for this, if not as well as she would be for more private functions. It's still early in her night, so she wants to warm up. Ruby joins her onstage. Twenty years old, with a red streak in her hair, her genius lies in the fact that she uses her real name for her pseudonym and no one ever suspects. It also ensures that she never trips up, which is always a problem for new dancers. Elena nods to the other girl but doesn't attempt to talk to her. She doesn't know Ruby like she does Vicki. An establishment like Original Sins has to keep a decent staff of girls, and Elena's close group can't include them all.

When she finishes the second dance, Elena's positive that she's rubbed every inch of her body against that pole. It would probably smell like her, if someone cared to test. She struts off the stage and onto the floor, where people are looking at her appreciatively and signaling to the coordinator. She hopes it's not a group. That's always so much more impersonal and objectifying, as well as rowdy. The good behavior of men tends to decrease considerably as their numbers rise.

A swish of dark hair and thigh-high boots catch Elena's attention. There's only one person bold enough to wander around like that. She chases after the other form, cutting her off midway through the room. "Katherine."

"Elena," her cousin purrs, lifting the whip Elena hadn't realized was hanging at her side and stroking it down Elena's face. "Nice to see you. How'd the appointments go?" In contrast to the utterly mundane topics, Katherine's voice drips with sex and promise.

"Fine, I think. I won't know the results of mine for a bit, but everything's alright with Jer. He's clean."

Katherine nods, leaning more into her hip with an increase in relaxation neither of them knew she needed. "Oh. Good." For all their differences, Elena is sometimes struck by how similar to her cousin she is. Not just facially, though with such close features and coloring they're constantly mistaken for sisters, but in caring about family. Whether she admits it or not, Jeremy's short dalliance with pot worried Kat just as much as it did Elena.

"So, what are you doing out of your Red Room of Pain?"

Katherine raises her eyebrows mockingly, which is as close as she'll ever come to taking offense over something like that. "Red Room of Pain? Really? That's the best you can come up with, Elena?"

"I just got on. Give me some time to drop my mind in the gutter."

The way Katherine laughs is nothing short of sinful. "It ever rises out of there? We haven't done a good enough job of corrupting you." They're leaning close together so they can talk without being heard. It doesn't register until a man taps Elena on the shoulder.

"Are you two sisters?" His tone of voice makes it absolutely clear what he'd like them to do if they are. Perfect at her character, Katherine doesn't rise to it at all.

"We are." It's an easy lie, and brings in more money. Kissing cousins is a joke, not a fantasy. "But…" She thwacks her whip down on the man's shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt, but so that it makes a notable sound. "I was just leaving. Things to do, people to beat… Maybe we'll see you later." She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow and all but dances away, swaying her hips in a way that's the envy of every other Vamp. Try as hard as she might, Elena's never been able to quite recapture the essence that is Katherine.

"Nina!" The girls' coordinator waves her over, and she politely excuses herself. "You've made a new friend."

She smiles up from under her lashes at the man, who holds himself with all the nervous bluster of a wealthy first-timer. "It's nice to meet you, sir." Exchanging an appreciative nod with August, Elena watches for him to flash up the room number for her – three – before indicating that the client should follow her to the back. She got lucky early on, but the night's just beginning, and who knows what the next four hours will bring.

x.x.x

Opening the door to their house as quietly as she can, Elena ushers Kat through first. Her cousin's barefoot again, heels hanging from her hand like a rich drunk girl, as she immediately moves to the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Exhausted, Elena just throws herself down on the couch with her hand over her eyes. She's not sure if she wants to join Kat or just find a way to go to sleep forever. Both sound more appealing than the last four hours.

After her first private dance, the night had been slow. Wednesdays. Slump Day. Kat complained the whole way home about it, and Elena was too tired to even tell her to shut up. She'd spent so much time dancing that they'd actually run out of poles for a while and some girls did floor work while others showed off their acrobatics. Plus, her feet ached. "Ugh."

"You alright?"

"Jeremy!" Elena sat up, looking into the hall in alarm. "It's three in the morning, what the hell are you doing still awake?"

Her little brother shrugged, coming to sit near Elena. "I was asleep for a while. Guess I've just developed a sixth sense for when you two come in." What he means is 'I was worried', but he'd never say it. Both Elena and Katherine have made it clear that they can take care of themselves and don't need someone to watch over them, especially not someone who needs to focus on school. Mostly, Jeremy listens to them.

"Yeah?" Elena yawns, her eyes falling closed for a second. "Well, if you know when I get home, would you mind telling me? My feet are pretty certain I'm still working."

Though Jeremy laughs, he looks concerned. "Do you want me to bring you to your room? Or bring blankets out here?"

"I'm fine, Jer. I can walk to my own bedroom. Thanks for offering, though."

The sound of the blender starts up, and both siblings simultaneously wince, turning their heads to look suspiciously at the kitchen door.

"You don't think she's breaking it, do you?"

"Probably not?" Katherine's not usually excessively destructive. A terrible cook to rival any other bad cook ever? Yes. But she doesn't crack things on a regular basis, which Elena is grateful for. They don't have the budget to constantly replace things. "I'm more worried about what she needs the blender for at three in the morning."

"Dinner, obviously." Katherine appears in the doorway, drinking from one glass that looks like it contains sludge, and holding the other out to her cousins. Apprehensively, Jeremy gets up and takes it, bringing the offering (which thoughtfully contains a spoon) over to Elena.

She prods it. "What's in this?"

"Fruit, yogurt, protein stuff, graham crackers, almonds, chocolate chips…" Kat shrugs. "You know. The main food groups."

"Why am I drinking it, again?"

"So you don't pass out. I'm pretty sure you burned half of the calories you consumed today just by humping that pole."

Elena shoots Katherine an annoyed look, eyebrows raised and eyes flicking to Jeremy, just for a second, clearly asking if she has to say that in front of Elena's brother. In response, Kat just raises her glass, making it perfectly clear that she knows what she's doing. Of course. Elena loves her cousin, but some moments she hates her too.

Grimacing, she takes a sip of Katherine's concoction. It's actually not terrible. Weird, and definitely chunky (the graham crackers were a bad idea) but palatable. Elena sits up, curls her knees to her chest, and keeps drinking it, scooping bites into her mouth with the spoon. "You should go to bed, Jer. You have school tomorrow."

His brow furrows as he looks between the two girls, his sister and his cousin, his only remaining family in the world. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I didn't even make anyone bleed tonight." Katherine raises her eyebrows suggestively. "The only not okay I am is disappointed."

Jeremy winces, standing up to return to his room. "Wow, Kat. I always think I know exactly what I don't want to think about you doing. And then you go and throw something like that out there."

She presses a kiss to her hand and blows it towards him, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye wave. With a laugh, Jeremy raises his middle finger in response before disappearing back towards his bedroom. Katherine sighs, throwing herself down on the chair her cousin just vacated.

"Oof." Throwing her feet up on the coffee table, Katherine takes another sip of her drink and gags on what appears to be an overlarge chunk of graham cracker. Once she finishes coughing, she looks over at Elena, eyes half-open but still alert. "Long night."

"Don't do that," Elena complains. She's exhausted, and that just makes her more annoyed with Katherine's antics.

"Do what?" Kat's fellating her spoon. It's really a marker of how much their jobs have infiltrated their lives – or perhaps how much Kat enjoys hers – that she doesn't even seem to be doing it on purpose. There's no one around to scandalize.

"Talk about me like that with Jer around. I'm still his big sister."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not like it's some big secret, Elena. He knows you're a stripper. He knows I'm a stripper. Hell, he knows all of our friends and they're all strippers too! So if you're worried about scarring him, I think it's a little late for that."

"Because you've done it all on your own, haven't you?" Groaning, Elena kneads her forehead. She needs water or something. To combat the dehydration she's almost positive is setting in. "I'm still his sister, Katherine. I have to take care of him."

"Just in case you've forgotten, Elena, he's eighteen. I'm not saying he's an adult, by any means…" She pulls a mocking face. "But Jeremy can take care of himself too. Eventually he'll be grown up, and you'll have to figure out how to be his sister and his equal." With a wink, she stands up from her chair and drains her glass, all fluid movement even at home. "Just something to think about."

Elena throws a pillow at her cousin's retreating back. It flops uselessly to the floor, and Katherine just laughs, disappearing off to her own room to get some sleep and leaving Elena alone in the living room, drinking the weirdest "dinner" ever with her knees curled up to her chest.

Everything seems clearer, but also blacker at three in the morning. It's as though the confusions of the day flutter away, leaving behind simple clarity. The only problem is that clarity sucks, everything is hopeless and stuck. Part of her thinks that Katherine's right. Her life is what it is, and pretending it's different around Jeremy won't make things better. The other part says that he's her little brother, and it's just _excessive._ She might just have to learn to live with it, though. Elena's not quite sure what dancers do after Original Sins. All of her peers would be close to graduating college now, and she hasn't attended at all.

That, perhaps, is the worst part of being a Vamp. She's still young, but this is a profession with a ticking clock, counting down the time until you're no longer viable. It's not like she has any prospects. She's never worked another job, and putting "stripper" on your resume tends to turn away potential employers. For a moment, Elena lets her mind flick to the notebooks in her nightstand that she hasn't touched for years, to her editing pencil and the longest word document on her ancient Mac. But that's history. She stands, bringing her glass to the kitchen and putting it in the dishwasher, stretching out her protesting muscles before bed. It doesn't matter anyway. No matter what she thinks or wants or fears, there's one rule that holds absolute, one rule that's going to dictate her future.

Once you belong to the Mikaelsons, you're theirs forever.

x.x.x

Getting an email to this inbox requires a shitload of work. It's rerouted through four different servers, scrambled through two individual codes, and encased in an equal number of firewalls and viruses. A good offense is the best defense, except when you have a good offense _and_ a good defense. Consequently, when the alert pops up that there's a new message, he checks the contents immediately. Which really means directing his brother to the laptop to run several more manual security checks. Better to be safe than sorry: a lesson that's been hammered into all of their heads since they were children.

Finally, the computer is handed back with the assurance that the email is safe. He opens it, running his eyes down the page. The message is brief and cryptic, but comprehensible if you know what you're reading. He does. Leaning back in his chair, he steeples his hands, index fingers pressed to his mouth. He reads the email again. Well. That's interesting.

He picks up his phone, hits two on the speed dial and waits while it rings. She has the most normal schedule of any of them, which is why she's the one who lives with their brother. Finally, she picks up, sounding as irritable as a wet cat. "What?"

"Sister."

"It's five in the morning, what could you possibly want from me?" The accent in her voice gets higher and whinier when she's tired. He smirks.

"Do you think your vampires can play nice with the wolves?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," she grumbles. He forgives her for the rudeness only because she's half-asleep (and because if he spent his time holding her personality against her, they'd never get anything done). "Why do you need them?"

"Let's say I have a feeling we're going to want some bloodsuckers around."

"At _five in the morning_?"

"Fine." He can be generous. It's not like they're on too much of a rush. But if anyone needs to be with him on this, it's her. "Call me back at seven."

Before the call ends, he hears something that may or may not have been her muttering instructions for him to go fuck himself. Ever setting a model of class, his little sister is. Despite her bad attitude (or in part because of it), he dons a self-satisfied grin. He doesn't care if it causes problems for other people, but he does so enjoy it when things start to get interesting.

_Authors note: you normally won't get these, because I just don't write them. Buuut as I said, a lot of pairings are undecided. And I wonder what people are interested in. So if you have any opinions, tell me. That's all for now, loves! 3_


	2. Chapter 2

_Much love to everyone who reviewed/followed/everything! I adore you all. Still undecided about the pairings, so if you want to throw in an idea, feel free. Alright, dolls. Hope this chapter works for you!_

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**Original Sins**

"How long are we going to live like this?"

In Stefan's defense, Damon cannot wait to get out of the same living space as his brother. The same motel room might work for a few nights, but they're effectively strangers (worse, they're strangers with a negative history), and he doesn't want to share a room indefinitely. Still, Stefan was the first to bring it up.

He looks over at the other man, sprawled indolently across his bed, bemusedly looking through the results he gets upon searching himself. Tech has outdone themselves. There are no traces left of Stefan or Damon Salvatore. Damon knows. He checked last night. But a paper trail twenty nine years long (presumably. He didn't go that far back) leads to them, or the idea of them as wealthy sons of a Pennsylvania businessman. He and Stefan have already decided that he's going to be the one interested in Original Sins and Stefan the reluctant one. Though – as Stefan so helpfully pointed out – skepticism is a skill of his, enthusiasm is _not_ a skill of Stefan's. That decided it.

"Don't worry, Stef. " The other makes a face. He's been opposed to that nickname since he was thirteen and decided he grew out of it. Consequently, it's Damon's favorite. "We'll have to figure out nicer accommodations soon. There's no way anyone's going to believe that two young men of our apparent stature would voluntarily share a motel room. So take deep, cleansing breaths. Maybe try downward dog. I've heard it's fantastically soothing." His voice drips with sarcasm, saccharine-sweet and mercilessly obnoxious. You're welcome, brother. You brought this on yourself with your terrible attitude.

"So what are we supposed to do until then."

"Live here?" Damon tosses the book he'd had open to the side and swings to his feet, stretching and going over to peer out the window. "Do our jobs? It wouldn't hurt to decide what we're going to do tonight."

Stefan, by contrast, doesn't peel his eyes away from the search results on his laptop. He must find faked family pictures of them absolutely fascinating. Or maybe he can see his hair in the reflection of his computer screen. It must take an absurd amount of care to maintain such a coif. "So we're starting tonight?"

"Well… yes." Damon rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure when else we would, considering we were officially working as soon as all of the information was officially faked. Remember, the sooner we get done with this, the sooner we go back to our actual lives. Don't you want to go play with dead bodies?"

The expression on Stefan's face just _screams_ that he wants to throw something at Damon but is too sophisticated for that. Instead, he finally closes his laptop and stands too, walking over to his brother and facing him down. "So what are we going to do until _tonight_? When the club actually _opens_?"

"Research." For once, Damon doesn't turn his statement into a mocking question, just tells his little brother the agenda. He likes to switch it up. There's no reason for Stefan to ever be able to predict what he's going to do. That would just be too easy. "Are you at all familiar with this case?"

"Well, I haven't memorized it for fun like you apparently have," Stefan grumbles.

Damon pinches the bridge of his nose. This is the actual worst. No, wait. It's not. What will be the worst is if even when they get a more viable place he and Stefan still have to live together. He is _not_ serving as his brother's maid. No chance in hell. But Stefan can't take care of a place to save his life. "On the contrary. I'm not entirely familiar with this case itself." He wouldn't say he's a stranger to it, by any means, but Ric's interest in Original Sins is as personal as Damon's, and just because they investigated while they were in the area does not mean they had access to FBI resources or any other support. "I know some about Mystic Falls and about the beginnings of Original Sins, but I've rarely gotten my hands on this case file at all."

All he's been able to do is add information he thinks is salient every so often without actually reading the file or cross-checking to see if someone else has put it in there. It wasn't his case, after all. Damon winces. That's probably why the thing's such a mess. Information redundancy must be rife within its pages if no one's ever been actually assigned to it or allowed to maintain it before. There are some things the FBI does well. Or at least satisfactorily. Then, there are things like this. Things that make Damon wonder how they can call themselves an organization at all.

"I thought it was your pet project." Whiny Stefan really needs to get back in Stefan's suitcase. Even Sassy Stefan is more fun than Whiny Stefan, who's only slightly more fun than Martyr Stefan. True, they've been estranged for five years, but Damon knows his brother.

"It's not. It was considered a waste of time until people started going missing, presumed dead." That's not quite true. At least, the 'started' part. If you ask Ric, and Damon trusts his best friend like no one else, people have been vanishing around Original Sins for years. Included in these people was his wife, Isobel. Well, she went missing when in Mystic Falls. But places like this club – people like the Mikaelsons – simply scream "we have drugs and you'll never be able to catch us for it". What Ric suspects is true probably is. They've never been able to find any proof (even if this is his partner's vendetta, what's Ric's is Damon's and vice versa as far as cases go) but Damon's certain it's out there. And sure, he's investigating for the FBI right now, but he's also investigating for the best friend who can't be here because of some bureaucratic fuckery.

Stefan snorts. "_Presumed_ dead. There's not a lot I can do without a body and a partner."

"So you don't think I can figure out what to do with a corpse?" Truthfully, Damon would prefer to have a well-trained member of ACES (read: Ric) working with him. Hell, even a scent hound might be a more useful partner than Stefan. At least a dog could sniff out drugs. And would stick with him.

"You don't know the first thing about a homicide." Stefan waves his hand dismissively, conveniently forgetting that they were both raised by the same man, a man with an unhealthy and slightly frightening obsession with his FBI unit, which just happened to be in Violent Crimes. "You'd get confused by a dead body."

"I know not to poke one. With my fingers or a stick," Damon quips. He's rewarded when Stefan rolls his eyes and looks away. They're both thinking the same thing in that moment. _This is going to be a long investigation._

Picking up his copy of the file, Stefan spreads it out on the table, motioning Damon over. Surprised to see Stefan actually showing some initiative in this case he so clearly disdains as beneath him, Damon scoops up his own information and follows his brother, depositing his papers on the other side. He flicks on the lamp so that they can see better, even though he'd prefer natural light. He doesn't want to be seen here by anyone who could connect the dots later, if he can help it. In fact, if everyone would just altogether avoid connecting the dots, that would be incredibly convenient.

"So. What's happened here?"

Damon looks over the incident reports. Truthfully, he doesn't exactly know either. He's been caught up in the drug side of this, looking for a product leak, or some kind of trail that will lead him back to Original Sins. But even the purity of the intoxicants in this area varies in perfect accordance with supposed gang patterns. Only problem is, no one's been able to find a gang to trace it back to. When he says as much to Stefan, his brother shrugs.

"There are gangs everywhere, Damon. Just because no one's seen them doesn't mean they aren't here. It means you're not looking hard enough."

Well. That's incredibly helpful. Damon grimaces. "Maybe. That doesn't mean they're pushing drugs. All I know is that ACES doesn't know anything about them. Not a sign, not territory, nothing. That, as you wouldn't know, isn't normal gang behavior. They want to be seen, at least by other gangs. Ghosts are rare."

"But the club isn't gang-affiliated."

No. No it's not. At least, not as far as Damon knows. If they're based in a legitimate operation, though, that might explain a ghost gang. He's not quite sure what else could, but he doesn't like thinking about it. Gangs are nasty business. Their members kill you as soon as they look at you, and then they lick off the knife. If he and Stefan can stay away from that sort of business, Damon will have no problems.

"That doesn't mean they aren't trying to mimic gang patterns."

"Please, Damon. No conspiracy theories." Stefan pushes his hair back, somehow managing to make it look even more styled than it was before he touched it. "We're working with owners of a strip club, not the CIA."

That's the crux of the problem, though, isn't it? It's always been Stefan's problem. He thinks he's in homicide because it's the best unit, and maybe that's part of it, but Damon knows something his brother doesn't. Stefan wouldn't do well in Drugs. Not that he wouldn't be able to handle it, but he'd be a bad agent. Stefan is biased. He's got some sort of weird moral superiority complex, to the point that he looks down on people. Owners of strip clubs, drug dealers, prostitutes, drug users… All the people that Damon has to work with on a daily basis, Stefan judges as stupid, lazy, corrupt, or simply incompetent at running their lives. He'd fail as a member of ACES because he would never be able to set aside his own prejudices to finish a case.

Damon's not looking forward to battling his brother on this. It's not a game. This time, whether or not Stefan rides along on his high horse all the rest of his life, he _needs_ his brother to come play in the dirt. To revel in it, and to respect the dirt. If Stefan thinks the Mikaelsons are stupid, or that the strippers are mindless robots, they'll be found out in a heartbeat. These are real, living, thinking people, and they're just as dangerous as Stefan's murderers and injurers, if not more so. After all, when he catches people, those bodies are the ones that get found.

"That doesn't mean they don't have tactics."

"Other than trying to get as much money as possible?"

Damon groans and gives up. He's not fighting Stefan on this one. Not right now. Stefan is too obstinate. Maybe once he sees what's actually going on, if he doesn't completely fuck up their job before they manage to get to that point, he'll listen to Damon. For now, the older Salvatore just wants to get a basic understanding of the investigation and what they're planning to do that night.

"Okay, fine." Compromise is annoying. "Go through the file on your own. Doesn't matter to me. Just so long as you know what we're doing and don't say anything indiscreet."

"I'm not the one who should have to worry about indiscretion."

The implication is almost as obnoxious as the sanctimonious tone Stefan speaks in. Damon gathers up his papers, resolving to go sit somewhere else – a coffee shop, maybe, even though coffee isn't his favorite. "So what's our plan, exactly?"

Stefan shrugs. "Walk in, watch strippers, find the management?"

Damon smacks the base of his file to get all the papers to align more violently than is strictly necessary. "That's not good enough. We should probably develop a relationship with one of the girls each, if not more. Everyone learns to know a regular, not just the girl he patronizes, and everyone likes a regular so long as he behaves well. Some clubs require that you buy a drink as a kind of impromptu entrance fee, but this one has an actual entrance fee, so we won't have to worry about intoxication." He ignores Stefan's indignant protest that he can hold his liquor. "Be friendly, but not weird. Don't take a private tonight – the point is to build relationships here, and if you start it as sexually as possible, that develops differently than if you patronize them politely but make it clear you want to talk. We can appreciate them, but also make it obvious that we're not exactly there for the strippers. And whatever you do, don't break cover or say anything that contradicts what I say, even if you don't agree with it."

"Anything else you'd like to add, mother?" Stefan snarks. "Should I make sure to brush my teeth and wash behind my ears, too?" He turns a page of his file, pretending that Sassy Stefan's not locked, loaded, and just begging to be punched.

"If you know what you're doing, then please, don't let me get in your way." If Stefan's ever been to a strip club in his life, even one as well-kept as Original Sins, Damon's going to be more than shocked. If his brother would just _listen_ to him… but Stefan thinks all his ideas suck, and so therefore nothing he says could possibly have any value.

He's not even listening, or it doesn't seem like it, as Stefan hums a vague assent and nods, paying most of his attention to his papers. Well, fine. Alright. Slipping his file underneath his arm, Damon grabs a room key and a jacket and leaves without telling Stefan where he's going. Mystic Falls is big enough that he's glad they have a car (and doubly glad that he pocketed the car keys when Stefan wasn't paying attention. Perks of being the driver.) but Damon doesn't intend to actually drive. There's a decent looking local coffee place within walking distance, and the less his license plate is seen, the better in his opinion. Maybe he's paranoid. Certainly Ric took precautions around here that he wouldn't have taken anywhere else. Being careful never hurt anyone, though.

x.x.x

Elena wakes up sore.

Every part of her body aches, from the bruises on her hips (which really hurt, after dropping to the floor so many times last night) to the ends of her hair follicles, which are still complaining about the high ponytail they were dragged up into for her performance. Her back's stiff, probably from sleeping funny, and as she gets out of bed she feels about a million years old.

Jer took the car to school. Apparently Kat's not working today either – or at least, she would presume not, considering the way her cousin is splayed out on the couch faking dead and that they don't have the car. That's nice, at least. Stripping isn't too bad, relatively speaking, but Elena hates the other part of the job. There's nothing redeeming or good about it. People just get hurt. Even if everything's carefully structured to prevent actual death, it's a far cry from "nobody dies" to "this is morally correct".

She drops a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster and hoists herself up on the kitchen counter, picking up her ancient laptop and hitting the power button. Because he's still in school, and they actually hope he'll be able to make something of his life, Jeremy has a decent computer. Katherine's and Elena's, however, are both three years old and weren't that nice in the first place. Rather, they were the cheapest ones the girls could find. She waits even so, unwilling to add a third item for her chain of command. She already turned on her computer to wait out how long it takes for toast to pop. If another layer is added to this situation, it will turn into Inception, and that's only acceptable after noon.

Her machine gets email and accepts highly encrypted messages so thick with programming they might as well be viruses, though, so Elena supposes she can't complain. After all, that's all she really needs. Everything else would just be helpful. But Jeremy comes first. Jer always comes first. Even Kat, who prefers to put herself first, agrees that Jer is their priority. He hasn't been fucked up yet. Aside from that run-in with drugs a couple years ago, he's doing far better with his life than either of them. As in, he doesn't sell himself and wouldn't ever think to try. After Elena chewed him out, Kat would stake him with one of her stilettos.

Logging on just as her toast pops, by the time Elena gets back with her breakfast hanging from her mouth like a lioness's kill, her browser pops up as soon as she clicks the icon for it. Success. Though she doesn't really expect anything on a day where she's only called to work her regular job, it's always better to be safe than sorry. When any of them misses an email calling them to work, she has to pay hell. The Mikaelsons consider them employees of two kinds, and falling down on either job has unfortunate consequences. Elena opens her inbox.

She spits out her bite of toast. Her first instinct teller her to shove her computer away. There's a new email. Unmarked, unstarred, plain. Utterly terrifying. This inbox has more red flags than an abusive relationship. The fewer distractions any message has, the more important it is. By the time you get to the ones that look duller than breakfast cereal, you're treading in very rough waters. As carefully as if any wrong move might cause a bomb to go off, Elena opens the message. It reads simply "Next Thursday. 9 am. Alex's fourth birthday party with finger paints and silly string. Wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty. Bring your own dog. Any extra water shooters are appreciated."

As far as codes go, it's a relatively simple one. There's no encryption, no cipher. That's what the actual technology's for. Elena knows this was probably rerouted through every possible server and scrambled around at least half a dozen times before it got to her. So she appreciates that, because she already knows two languages and doesn't want to add a third right now. The part she hates about it, though, is the guesswork. There are no hard and fast rules to this code. Phrases aren't repeated, and nothing can be memorized. It's all based on context and educated guessing.

The name Alex, for example. Does it mean anything, or is it just a detail to make the email make sense? She has no idea. There's nothing to tell her which one it is. The rest of the email decodes easily. There's a job next week, four paintings, bring mace, a Wolf, and a gun. Wear plainclothes, whatever is least obtrusive. Be there by 8:45 and skulk around. All of that makes sense to Elena, though it makes her feel a little bit sick. Something's dancing around in the pit of her stomach. She hates jobs where she needs a bodyguard. Usually it means the other party brought a gun too, if not more than one, and she hates risking getting shot. The prospect of dying and leaving Jeremy to take care of himself is one she can't contemplate.

Not that art jobs are usually that bad. They're often sort of an upper-class deal, which also usually makes them relatively safe. But "safe" and Mr. Mikaelsons Wolves fit together like "fluffy" and a nuclear warhead. It still makes Elena feel a little bit sick to remember that first day Tyler showed up on her doorstep. He looked like a thug, especially given the incredibly obvious bulge in his pocket where he kept his gun, and she honestly though she was going to die.

Even Hayley, who's quite delicate and lovely by Wolf standards, looks as though she could rip your head off without a shred of remorse. At least it's a week away. Usually jobs aren't scheduled so far out, but Elena doesn't mind. This is one she'll want to prepare for, mentally, if not physically. She has to go into everything half-blind, but no one ever said she has to wander around completely unable to tell what she's getting herself into. That would be inadvisable. They want her to have maximum plausible deniability (one of the reasons the Vamps are forcibly discouraged from talking to each other about day-walking) but it would also be highly inconvenient if she died. Oh, the eternal struggle.

With a groan, Elena closes her computer and swallows the last bite of toast even though her throat suddenly feels much too dry. "Katherine!" she yells to her still-sleeping cousin. "Kat!" They're only a room apart, but she still feels the need to bellow. Urgency of the situation and all.

From the couch, a groan echoes up into the air, an olive-skinned hand flopping momentarily in what might be a wave to Elena before it collapses back onto its owner with pathetic limpness. Clearly, Kat is not feeling awake. "What?" she demands, drawing out the 'a' into a half-whine.

Elena walks into the living room and drops her cousin's computer onto her lap unceremoniously. "Here."

Katherine cracks an eyelid, her expression utterly disgruntled as she stares at the machine. "What the fuck do you want me to do with this?"

Sliding in next to her cousin, Elena props the still-half-asleep Kat up, opening her laptop for her and indicating that she should type in her password. "I need you to check your email. Now."

x.x.x

Caroline lives alone.

Sometimes it's isolating, and sometimes she wishes that she'd made different decisions, but the very idea of living with another person makes her shudder if she seriously contemplates it. She knows a thing or two about codependence, and she is very much over it. She can support herself. She can pay for her own place. She works, and absolutely no one can take that away from her. She's not silly, girly little Caroline anymore, and she hasn't been for a couple years. She has no desire to go back to that place, to go back to being that person, the one everyone had to watch out for.

So she lives by herself. Which is nice, sometimes. It means she can play her music much more loudly than she'd be able to if she had a flatmate or anything of the sort, and can wander around wearing whatever she wants, and nobody's there for her to say the wrong thing to (or to judge her for talking to herself). On the other hand, it can be kind of scary.

That's one thing Caroline really really loves about Tyler. Not the only thing, of course. He's her boyfriend, and she loves him no matter what. But she also flat-out refuses to live with him. When he stays over, she always feels safe. No one can touch her with Tyler there. That doesn't mean he can always hang around. He has his own life too, and Caroline's not sure she'd want him to move in yet. Part of her thinks he might bring the scary with him, if they made their arrangement at all more permanent.

Her flashlight hangs in her hand, even though it's mid-day and she can see everything in her apartment perfectly. It's the heaviest thing she owns with a short enough length for her to be able to hit effectively with it. Caroline swears she didn't sign up for this. Fine, she's not living in the best of neighborhoods, but someone is scratching at her door. She's not supposed to be living in a horror film. And no one from work is meant to be able to find her here. Only the other girls, and they're completely safe. They wouldn't sell each other out even if tortured.

Irrational panic spikes in her chest, and she gulps down air, reminding herself that she's okay. Not untouchable, but no one who would hurt her knows where she is. They _couldn't_. She is _okay_.

Repeating that to herself like a mantra, Caroline opens the door. At first, she thinks there must be a ghost. No one is there and she definitely heard scratching and strong or not, this is freaky. At least it is until she feels a stinging pain in her ankle. She drops with a yelp, grabbing the injury and looking around for who caused it.

She doesn't have to search far. Sitting there beside her, looking extraordinarily pleased with its own capacity for inordinate levels of violence is the tiniest kitten Caroline's ever seen. Seriously. If cats could win prizes for being miniature and evil, all the other ones could go home. She's sure there are smaller kittens out there, but none that scratch you on the ankle for no reason. Though… She looks closer. There's a string looped around the kitten's neck, forming a noose knot so tight she's shocked the little animal can breathe.

"It's okay," Caroline coos, even though the stupid thing made her bleed not a minute ago. "I want to help you." Apparently little Clawsy doesn't know the meaning of the word "help", because it hisses and backs away when she tries to slip a finger in to loosen the makeshift collar. It's only then that she realizes the string extends upward, tying him to… her doorknob? If it was meant to be a threat, it's not a very effective one. If someone thought that she needed a temperamental Calico kitten in her life, they definitely thought wrong. But it's not like she can leave him… her… it alone. Times like this, Caroline misses the roommate she doesn't have. Another person would be really nice right about now.

"Come on, Claws." She pulls the 'leash' from her doorknob and drops it on the floor, distracting the little cat long enough for her to slip her hand underneath its belly and lift it up against her chest. Claws wails irritably, but Caroline is unyielding as she drops it in her (currently dry) kitchen sink and reaches for her phone. She really hopes Elena doesn't have a job going on right now.

Forty-five minutes later, the five of them (Caroline, Tyler, Elena, Katherine, and Claws, who has finally decided he – she checked – likes Caroline at least enough to let her feed him and pet him to sleep in her lap) are sitting in Care's main room, all looking between each other without any real idea what to say. There are three items on the impromptu agenda. The first, and least relevant, is what on earth is up with Claws. Tyler had protested the name, telling Caroline that she didn't really want to associate her cat (assuming she was keeping him) with the primary owner of Original Sins, but Caroline just shrugged, gave the cat the stink eye, and said that it suited him.

The second topic, which is also in the middle as far as importance goes, is this email all the girls have received. After Elena demanded that she do so, Caroline checked her email and found that she, too, has a job next Thursday morning. According to Tyler, the Wolf pack is called for a meeting later that day. They can't know, but they suspect it's on the same topic. Thirdly, which is the thing they don't really want to broach but also don't really want to leave, they're going to have to eventually talk about Anna.

"What do you think is going on?" Katherine sprawls across the carpet, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it over and over again, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn. Claws's eyes follow the path of her toy, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Sketchiness, of course, but it could be argued that every day we go to our jobs and work is a sketchy day, so that's not really relevant."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence." Not to rain on everyone's conspiracy parade, but things don't seem all that dire to Caroline. Yes, it's a serious job. Probably just high profile clients. It's not like they've never gotten unmarked emails before, though she can't remember ever getting one this far in advance. If it's unmarked, it's usually a rush job. And also usually doesn't require any Wolves as guards. But she thinks Elena's overreacting a bit (or a lot). She loves her best friend dearly, but Elena does have that tendency, to panic over things that don't need to be panicked over. "Or a multi-part job."

Usually Katherine's not big into the whole anxiety over theories stick, but oddly enough, she too looks somewhat worried. "Maybe." She cocks an eyebrow and sits up, reaching out for Claws as though he's a nice cat and not a baby death machine. He doesn't move. "But it just seems like odd timing to me. What with the Anna thing, and then something that's framed like it's a totally normal job except that it sends up about the biggest red flag possible…" She shrugs.

About the "Anna thing", at least, she has a point. They've managed to completely get around talking about it thus far, but someone's going to have to say something eventually. After all, Anna had been with the club almost as long as Elena had. She was still only as old as Caroline, and pretty good. She'd managed to work an "exotic" angle, and though she'd never shown any interest in anything other than simple stripping and pole work, Anna was definitely among their peerage as far as skill went. She'd never been as interested in joining up with their group, but neither had she been uninvited. If she'd wanted to be part, she could have been.

Last Monday, Rebekah had shown up with a tiny, dark-haired girl who set all of their teeth on edge. Underage Vamps were part of the job. They'd all known (or been) one at some point, but that didn't mean any of the established dancers liked them. No one wanted or needed that extra element of risk. Taking a job that already had a pretty strong illegal side and skirted legality even when it was completely state-sanctioned and then adding statutory and consent concerns appealed to no one. She'd introduced the girl as April and offered no information on her age (if she was under eighteen, no one wanted to know. Plausible deniability went a long way). More concerningly, Rebekah had proceeded to announce that April was being hired to replace Anna who had just quit, and that she'd need to be taught protocol and other basics, because she'd never been a stripper before.

The girls had shifted uncomfortably, looking back and forth between each other but not willing to mention anything. The idea of Anna "quitting" was impossible. Even Vamps or Wolves who "grow out" of working for Original Sins (their group has only ever known three of these in the time any of them have worked there. Original Sins is still a relatively young establishment, only about seven years old) have to go through and absolutely nightmarish process to extricate themselves from the Mikaelsons. Had Anna been planning to move on, they all would have known at least a month in advance. She would have talked about it. Not just up and decided that she was done. She couldn't have done. Which left only one conclusion. Something happened to her.

Hence, "the Anna thing". No one wants to acknowledge that something bad probably befell one of their peers, that she might be dead. It's uncomfortable and awkward and potentially dangerous. Spreading business that isn't yours around is always a bad idea.

Even with the Anna thing, Caroline isn't sold that it's that big of a deal. It seems that Claws is the only one who agrees with her on that point, though. He's kneading her leg like he's a masseuse, not a kitten with very sharp claws. Tyler, Elena, and Katherine, though, are sharing significant looks and obviously aren't buying her arguments.

"Okay." Caroline shrugs, changing tack. "Suppose it is a problem. Suppose there's something more than the obvious going on. What would we even do about it? Go up to Rebekah and ask 'hey, are you plotting anything'? I don't think that would go over very well."

The other three pause. Katherine cocks her head, appraising Caroline in a way that the blonde knows means she's gotten in the other girl's head, at least a little bit. It's kind of flattering, in a minorly scary way, that Katherine's listening to her seriously. Listening to people seriously is not one of Katherine's particularly strong skills. She tends to get embedded in her own opinion. Elena bites her lip.

"I… I don't think we can really do anything," she admits.

"We can watch each other's backs," Katherine offers. "All start carrying around whips and claim it's kinky week? No one would mess with any of us then."

Elena rolls her eyes, but Caroline giggles. Tyler's the only one who seems to still be stuck in serious world. He's gotten a lot more mature about going there over the years. When she first met him, he was something of a thug with decent intentions. Now he actually considers things.

"I'm concerned about the three of you," he finally says. "I think Elena was right to be worried." Caroline scowls, and scoots a bit away from him, drawing Claws closer to her chest and scratching the kitten behind his ear so he doesn't object to the tighter hold. "You all don't really know Klaus, but he's not big on family bonding or group time with the Wolves." Tyler snorts. "It actually sort of makes no sense that we're called a pack, since 90% of the time we operate alone. I'm not even sure I know all my supposed pack members. So if he wants us all together for something, that means it's big. I didn't think you guys would be involved, but…" He threads his hand through Caroline's, and she melts a bit. He's just looking out for them. The whole "wolf" thing is more accurate than anyone would really guess, because Tyler is definitely an alpha male, always wanting to take care of his people.

"Nothing's going to happen to us," she reassures him. "When we actually do the job, we'll all have one of you with us, right? That will keep us more than safe. And what is anyone going to do in the next week? Assassinate us over a job they know nothing about, a schedule they shouldn't know anything about, without even knowing that we're the ones who are going to be doing this work? There's nothing to be afraid of."

Elena and Katherine give each other significant looks, but they don't say anything and so Caroline doesn't bother to take it on. If they're feeling something beneath the surface and communicating about it through cousin telepathy, that's their problem. Is there such a thing as cousin telepathy? She knows about twin telepathy, but Elena and Katherine look really similar so maybe that counts for something in the cosmic balance of telepathy. Whatever.

"So, just to be clear… Our plan is be careful but do nothing?" Caroline confirms, looking around her group of friends. Well, it's not the whole group. Vicki's working today, Matt has two jobs, and Bonnie isn't invited because she doesn't know about this part. But they are all friends, and they can all trust each other, even when they can't trust anyone else.

"Sure." Katherine's back to playing with her ball. "As plans go, that one's horrible, but I don't see any better options."

"But at least you're optimistic about it." Elena rolls her eyes.

"I can't recall the last time being optimistic about something there was no reason to be optimistic about turned out well." Katherine shrugs. "If we're going to decide that this may be a problem but we're not taking any action, we might as well admit that we have no idea what to do or what the right answer is but that we're pretty sure there's a problem. Which, as far as I can tell, is not a desirable position to be in."

The conversation kind of dies after that. There's not a lot more to say after such a bleak pronouncement, and Elena says that she needs to be home in time for Jeremy to get there. Caroline doesn't mention that he's eighteen and he can probably take care of himself just fine. If Elena wants to worry about her little brother, nothing can stop her.

Tyler takes a bit longer to go. He's concerned, but Klaus wants them all in before Original Sins opens that evening, so he definitely has some work to do. She shoos him out with a fake smile and the reassurance that she's going to be okay (even though her apartment is kind of sketchy and she's scared of scratching on her door).

That leaves just her and Claws. He sits down on the carpet and starts licking his paws as though they're the most fascinating things in the world, swiping them over his face. Caroline decides she's going to keep him.

x.x.x

They walk in at nine-o-seven that night.

Damon's been here once before. He was just watching the goings-on, so there's no reason for anyone to remember him. He hasn't told Stefan that part, though, because if there's one thing he doesn't need it's for his little brother's anxiety levels to rise. Stefan's already about as antsy as a golden retriever puppy who desperately needs to go on a walk. Because of course, Saint Stefan hasn't ever been in a strip club. That would be beneath him.

"Don't touch," Damon warns his brother under his breath, as though it's actually a necessary instruction. Stefan wrinkles his nose as though he hasn't even thought of it. Gorgeous women in various states of undress? Why the hell would he ever be tempted to touch that? If it hadn't been for that high school girlfriend of Stefan's (maybe his brother's had some after that? He hasn't kept track), Damon would have assumed Stefan was simply gay. There's nothing wrong with gay. Gay people are people too. He's actually a little disappointed he never got to give Stefan that talk, purely for the joy of the horrified expression his brother would wear. "Just sit down somewhere," he continues, "don't get a drink – of anything, the cleanliness in these places is far from stellar." Though to be fair, he's relatively impressed with Original Sins thus far. Definitely not a total dive. "Play nice but don't tell them what we're up to."

"I'm not going to tell the prostitutes that we're on an investigation," Stefan hisses in Damon's ear. "Don't treat me like an idiot."

Instead of protesting that that's so difficult when Stefan insists on _acting_ like an idiot, Damon just corrects him. "Strippers. Not prostitutes. Don't try to buy sex from any of these girls. That's illegal, you'll probably offend them, and we'll never get back in here."

"I know the law!" Stefan snaps. "That wasn't the point."

"Just be respectful." Damon sits down in a chair, pleased to find that it doesn't show any signs of stickiness. The room's moderately well lit, enough that he can see the performers and they can probably see him just as clearly, but not so much so that he's going to be making eye contact with everyone else in there at any given moment. Classy. There's a bar, and it appears that any given girl will get you a drink if you ask her to (though personally Damon's opposed to using the strippers as servants. He should start a campaign. "Strippers are people too.") He supposes that private dances and rooms are the main focus of this establishment, given the flow of people. It's almost like there's a cross between the free-form nature of a strip club going on, and the more ordered kind of services that generally involve appointments. Interesting. "And don't tell them that you're interested."

"You do know they won't come back if we don't seem engaged?" Stefan affirms.

Damon misses Ric. Really, really badly. It's like there's a platonically man-shaped hole in his chest where his partner should be. And he can acknowledge that even though it annoys him, it's not all Stefan's fault. He and his brothers have had five years to fall out of sync, the same five years he and Ric have spent getting on exactly the same wavelength. Stefan has no way of competing with that, or of intuiting what Damon means. "Don't tell them you're interested in getting into the business. Tonight is just for scoping things out. Look as though you know more than you're letting on, but don't actually let anything one."

"This isn't an acting class, Damon."

"Bring out your inner drama queen anyway." He doesn't care to argue this point. Stefan can think whatever he wants (not that he'll listen to what Damon's telling him anyway, he never does) but Damon would rather that things go well in spite of his brother.

Stefan groans, watching the girls onstage without actually looking at them. Damon's slightly more interested. He tilts his head. He's seen some things, but the ability to bend like _that_ is new. She might be worth getting to know.

"Are we getting anywhere with this?" Stefan can be patient, but only if he knows what he's doing. As opposed to Damon, who just isn't patient. Especially not with people who get on his nerves, as Stefan is so effectively doing.

"Just find a way to relax. Watch them. They like you better if you're paying attention. It's like nonverbal encouragement."

"This is in no way relaxing," Stefan grumbles.

A mostly-unclothed blonde clipping by on heels so high she would probably break her neck if she fell on them shoots Stefan an odd look, somewhere in between attraction and confusion. Probably asking herself why such a hot guy would be here if he doesn't even like it. She moves purposefully across the room, and Damon surmises that the guy at the desk called her name. He appears to be the one who arranges private appointments. Given the size of the establishment and the number of men just hanging around as well as the rotation of girls onstage (already, two new ones have appeared), Damon surmises that they must have a pretty significant staff. This place is off. Wrong. Everything about it is being done differently to the point of abnormality. They are definitely hiding something, and he is going to find out what it is.

"So?"

Damon sighs. "If you don't want to wait, Stefan, we can do the other thing."

"Which is?" Stefan's brows immediately furrow, and Damon is one hundred percent certain that he's thinking about prostitution.

"Catch one and talk to her." Normally, he'd suggest going up to the stage and tipping them (if only to see his brother balk) but that doesn't seem to be so much a thing here. Why? Why are they not going crazy over the potential for tips? After all, that's what dancer salaries are primarily based on. So why will the girls onstage pay attention to those who give them attention but shun the possibility of getting money?

"Catch… They're not mice, Damon!"

He widens his eyes. "I know. These are way easier to get hold of. Not that you touch them. Don't touch."

"I'm not the one you need to be reminding of that rule."

With a sigh, Damon looks around until his eyes lock on one dismounting from the stage. He had been too busy with his brother to pay much attention to her performance, but she's definitely his type. Long, dark hair and olive skin with a delicate but not frail frame. Yeah. He doesn't discriminate, but he kind of has a thing for brunettes.

When she gets close, he holds out his hand, specifically not touching her. It would be rude. "Excuse me?"

She turns. She's even prettier up close, with her doe eyes and that sweet look about her. "Sorry, if you want to arrange a private session, you'll have to talk to August." She waves towards the man behind the desk, the one who Damon guessed organized these things.

"And if I just want to talk to you?"

She cocks her head and smiles, as though she's not used to getting told that. It's an act, of course. If there's one thing strippers are good at, it's lying. They're not just selling their bodies, they're selling an image. "That's not exactly regular." She settles into her left hip, watching the two of them. "I can stay for a few minutes, though. Unless August calls me."

"Forgive us," Damon nods smoothly. "My brother and I are new here." For the first time since flagging her down, he looks over at Stefan. Of course, his brother is paying absolutely no attention to him in return. All of Stefan's focus is on the girl. She appears to notice his interest and blushes slightly.

"Oh. Well, Original Sins is… different." She shrugs. "We do talk, if you want, but most people would rather do that in an individual room. And if we get called off, we have to go. I really would advise talking to August first, though. He can orient you in the right direction. Or Matt's good. The bartender." A genuine smile flares on her face as she mentions Matt, and Damon decides not to read into it. It could be nothing, or they could be together, and it wouldn't really be his business.

"Thank you, then…?" Stefan cuts in. Damon looks over at his brother. He thought that all strippers and anyone who went near a strip club for less than some higher purpose was inferior. She's pretty, but is she really worth him getting over his prejudices? Apparently so.

"Nina," the girl finishes. "And you are…?"

"Stefan."

"I'm Damon."

"Nice to meet you, Stefan. Damon." Nina smiles, and opens her mouth as though she's about to say something else when her name is called. Some man stands beside the appointments desk, apparently waiting for her. "Oh, sorry. Have to go." With a last, bright, probably fake look, she slips off (an impressive feat in heels that high).

Almost as soon as she's out of earshot, Stefan speaks up. "I'm marking her."

"What?" Damon frowns more out of confusion than anything, though he thinks he knows where this might be going and if he does, he doesn't like it.

"She's my mark."

The humor in hearing Stefan of all people use PUA language is dampened considerably by the expectedness of it. He shouldn't be surprised that because he's interested in "Nina" naturally Stefan is too. It's just so… fucking predictable. Whatever. She's just another stripper with pretty eyes and the fantastic ability to lie. "Sure."

Damon stands, stretching momentarily and motioning for Stefan to accompany him. For once, his brother does so without questioning it. Apparently, they've managed to sync up at least a little bit, because they both head in the direction of August without a word. After all, if you're going to trust anyone with what you should do while in a club, it might as well be a stripper who works there.

x.x.x

Talking to August is frustratingly ineffective. It's not that he's unhelpful or rude, though he does brush them aside every time someone who actually wants to buy a girl's time comes up. There are some things he says he can't talk about, but for the most part he's quite nice about the whole thing. It just gives them no new information.

Knowing how the club works will not tell either of them where dead bodies or drugs are. Stefan has no desire to spend any time privately with any of the dancers. There is less than no chance that a mostly-naked to naked girl gyrating on him will provide any sort of useful information. He thinks a more external approach would be good. Or better yet, to try the thing that no one seems to have thought of and openly investigate, rather than sneaking around like this.

Of course, Damon likes it. Damon's sneaky, so being sneaky suits him just fine. Unpleasant is as unpleasant does, Stefan thinks. Well, that might be alright for his brother, but he doesn't enjoy it in the least. Spending time with strippers and making friends with their pimps is a horrible waste of his time. Of course Damon likes it, though. He probably doesn't think there's even a case here, Stefan thinks. Damon just wants to spend as much time as possible in a den of iniquity.

"So, is there anything else to do here today?" he asks his brother.

Damon sighs irritably. "Well, we could try actually _talking_ to someone, Stefan."

"We've talked to people. We've talked to two people. Neither of them were the least bit helpful, and I can't see any reason to assume that anyone else here would be." He's tired. It's eleven at night and they were driving all of last night and they managed to do nothing practical today and then waste the night. Which is not at all aggravating. Nope. He has no reason to be annoyed with any part of the situation.

"You do know the club closes at two in the morning, right?" Damon affirms. "We have plenty of time to find things out."

"Like what? We already know how much private sessions with the girls cost, which girls are the most booked, that they have _dominatrices, _of all things, that as you said, alcohol isn't required, that no one's doing drugs in public and that there are no visible corpses. What else do you want?"

Damon opens his mouth. Closes it. Gives Stefan an almost painfully disdainful look. "Well, we could try to find out what it takes to run a club. How the girls get hired? What the turnover rate is?"

Stefan frowns. "What are you talking about?" Why would they care about _any_ of that? Honestly, some days he despairs for Damon's future as any kind of investigator. Or really, as anything that doesn't involve drinking with his best friend. He has no idea how their father managed to go so horribly wrong with his older sibling. Though it's really not fair to blame Dad. Damon was Damon from the word go.

"If we actually want to pretend we want to buy this club, we have to figure things out. You can do whatever behavioral analysis thing you want to on the girls while I talk to them."

Before Stefan can protest or grab Damon's arm and drag him to the side to argue about his terrible ideas, his brother's already walked up to another passing stripper, smiling charmingly at her despite (or perhaps because) she's wearing clothes that don't even make sense as underwear.

"Hey. Do you have time to talk?"

She leans forward and smiles with such pouty lips that Stefan wonders if they're real. "Maybe a bit for you. But I am working, you know?"

Damon raises an eyebrow and leans closer in return. Stefan coughs. Seriously? Of course, they both ignore him. "We'd pay you for your time, of course," he smoothly offers.

"Both of you at once?" The girl looks them over and grins. "That's kinda kinky."

"We just want to _talk_," Stefan tries to explain, but Damon, rude as he is, cuts him off.

"Well, if you'd like to bring a friend…" He raises his eyebrow suggestively. "I think Stefan here was fond of Nina."

"I'll get her," the girl offers. "I'm Kayla, by the way. See you in a bit?"

"Sounds good to me." Damon starts walking back to August's desk as Kayla leaves them, but Stefan catches his arm, leaning close to his brother's face and glowering irritably.

"What are you _doing_, Damon?"

The smile his brother gives him is obnoxiously entitled, as certain that what he's doing is acceptable as it's possible to be. "Research."

Stefan narrows his eyes, giving Damon the opportunity to push up the corner's of his mouth. "Smile, little brother," he insists. "I just got you a date to talk with a stripper. Wouldn't want Grumpy Stefan to ruin everything."

Stefan scowls. This is a terrible idea.


End file.
